


Trust Me

by unfolded73



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dark Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Dark One Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Dark One Emma Swan, Dark One Emma, Doggy Style, F/M, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Love Bites, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7392856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfolded73/pseuds/unfolded73
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The impact of the darkness on Emma and Killian's relationship at three different points, two during season 5 and one after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Camelot

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Season 5a, sometime after the horseback ride and before they free Merlin. I think I warned for everything in the tags, but just to elaborate on that a little, I tagged this "mildly dubious consent" because I wasn't sure how thorny the consent issues are when one (or both) of the characters are Dark Ones. So better safe than sorry. As always, a big thanks to j-philly-b for talking me down off the ledge multiple times with this fic.

Killian blinks himself awake in the darkness. His head feels stuffed with cotton from too many days with too little sleep. The sound of a rhythmic scraping reaches his ears, and he rubs his hand over his face.

“Love, come to bed.”

“You know there's no point,” Emma replies in that voice that is hers and yet not, the timbre too deep.

The fact that they are sharing a room in Camelot at all is because of Regina. Originally there was a room in the castle designated for the “maidens,” but Regina used her status as the savior to get a separate room for Emma and herself, and then just like that she was dragging him out of the room he was put in with Robin, proclaiming, “We’re switching, pirate. You'll do a better job looking after her than I would anyway.” She closed the door in his face, and as he heard the bolt slide into place, he could also hear Robin literally giggling, of all things.

He sits up and looks at Emma. There is enough moonlight coming in through the window to illuminate her, a dark and terrible goddess all in white. He can barely make out the dreamcatcher clutched in her hands.

“I know you can’t sleep, Swan, but come lie with me a little while.” He hears a soft, humorless laugh from her. “I don’t mean …” he stops and breathes through his frustration and tries again. “I’d just like to hold you.” He hates how vulnerable he sounds.

Despite Regina’s machinations with the rooms, and the fact that the days drag on since they’ve arrived with no real progress toward freeing Merlin, they haven’t exactly taken much advantage of this precious privacy. He’s made love to her once since they arrived in this realm, a hurried encounter during which she was distant and melancholy. And maybe it’s not only that. Maybe it’s also that she terrifies him. Aside from that brief moment of crystalline stillness in the middlemist field, when kissing her felt like it used to, when he could almost forget the darkness lurking inside her, sex doesn’t seem to have a place in their relationship right now.

She walks over and sits down on the bed, looking out-of-sorts and irritated. He reaches out and trails his fingers up and down her arm, but the look of irritation doesn't go away. As if she's read his mind (and who's to say that she hasn’t) she says, “We can have sex if you want,” and the lack of enthusiasm in her voice cuts him.

“Not if you don’t want to, Swan.”

Emma shrugs. “I really don’t mind. It might help.”

“Help what, with the darkness? Believe me, if I thought I could fuck the Dark One out of you, I would.”

She laughs. “What a great service for all mankind. Killian Jones and his world-saving cock.”

That makes him laugh too, and the tension in the room eases. He continues to stroke her arm. “What do you need?”

“I don't know.”

“I'll do anything for you, just tell me.”

Her eyes meet his, her expression unreadable. “Kiss me.” He pulls her down beside him, his lips meeting hers in a gentle caress. His bare chest presses against her clothed one, and his hand moves to her back, carefully tracing her spine. After too few seconds, she pushes him away, her lips pinched with dissatisfaction.

“Don't touch me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Don't touch me like I'm a china doll that's going to shatter.”

“Swan, I'm not.”

“You _are_. Just…” She gestures with frustration. “Don’t be so gentle.”

He follows her direction, his hand rubbing hard against her back, massaging her shoulder blade with deep pressure from his fingers. He can tell it relaxes her a fraction, but still she is uneasy.

“Emma, just tell me what you need. Don't be afraid. Don't be ashamed.”

She makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t _know_. My mind won’t stop; even when I’m not seeing Rumplestiltskin, I know he’s… _it’s_ here, it’s inside me, and my mind just _won’t stop_. I need to not think for a little while.”

He gives her a confident, sexy leer that he doesn’t really feel. “I’m sure I can make you not think, darling, I’ve done it before.”

“I don’t know if you can.” She rolls onto her back. “Can you just…” Her hands come up to cover her face.

“Tell me.”

“Make me do stuff. You know.” Her words are halting, muffled by her hands, and under other circumstances he might find her hesitance endearing. “Make me be submissive. To you. I think that might help.”

His heart begins racing. “Why?” he asks, genuinely curious. 

Finally she looks him in the eye. “I just think it would quiet all the shit in my head. Or, I hope it would.”

“All right,” he says quickly, before he can think through the ramifications of what she’s asked him. He gives her a reassuring smile. “Perhaps if I do well, we can even get you to sleep.”

She smiles sadly. “I don't think so.”

He takes a deep breath. He has plenty of experience being on the giving (Milah) and receiving (Cora) end of consensual sexual domination, but those are memories he doesn’t want to dredge up at the moment. He cups her cheek and looks at her seriously. “If I go too far, stop me.”

“Ooh, I need a safe word,” she says, looking delighted with the idea. “What about beanstalk?”

Glancing around them, Killian stands and unties one of the braided sashes that holds the curtains around the canopy bed in place. “Beanstalk?”

She flicks her wrist, and the candles in the room spring to life. Killian flinches, wondering if even the simple magic she’d already mastered is tainted with darkness now. “Yeah, if I say ‘beanstalk’, you stop, okay?” 

“Aye.” He moves around to the other side of the bed, untying another sash. “Take your clothes off,” he says to her as he works the knot loose. 

Emma’s eyes are wide as she complies, but she doesn’t look afraid, just excited. She stands, dropping her cloak in a pool around her feet. “Can you help me with the laces?” she says, indicating the back of her dress. Killian puts the curtain sashes aside and begins to unlace her dress. “You’re better at that with one hand than I would be with two,” she remarks.

“Lots of practice.” 

Once the laces are loose enough, Emma shrugs the dress off and drops it at her feet. She grimaces at her undergarments. “I had a lady's maid to help me into this getup this morning. A _lady's_ maid.” He helps her out of the corset too, and finally she is bared to his gaze. 

“Get on the bed, that’s a good lass.” Thoughts of her clothing apparently forgotten, Emma lies down and looks at him expectantly.

He can almost forget what she is, just now. With so much creamy skin on display, skin that he’s kissed every inch of, with her perfect hair fanned out on the pillows, she is just Emma, his love. He picks up one of the sashes. “Put your hands together.” With his hand and teeth, knotting the sash around her wrists is a simple task.

“Good knot, pirate,” she says, testing it. “Of course, I could get out of this with magic.”

“But you won’t.” He picks up the other braided sash. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Her voice comes out breathy, and it hides that deeper quality that betrays the demon that’s set up shop inside her mind. Contributes to the illusion that all they are is a man and a woman having a bit of fun.

He gestures for her to scoot higher up the bed. “Hands above your head, love.” He moves over her on his knees, and smirks as he notices the way her eyes track the bulge in the thin trousers he was sleeping in. Her chest is heaving and she’s licking her lips as he ties her to the bed, and it gives him a wicked idea.

First he has to admire his handiwork, though. Retreating back toward the middle of the bed, he lets his eyes feast on the picture she makes, the flush on her breasts, her legs restlessly moving against each other as she seeks friction. 

“Hook on or off?” he asks her, glancing over to his brace on the table.

“On.”

He can feel her eyes boring into his back as he crosses the room to retrieve it. It gives him a moment to consider the fact that he’s just tied the Dark One up in his bedroom. Killian pushes that thought away as he manipulates the buckles of his brace. 

Turning around, he takes her in again. Emma. This is Emma. 

Once again he joins her on the bed. “Now, I need you to be very good and very still, love. No more of this,” he says of the way she’s rubbing her thighs together. With hook and hand, he pries her legs apart, moving them so that her feet are planted flat on the bed. For a long moment, he just looks at her glistening quim. Emma is straining to keep her head elevated, waiting for him to do something, so Killian picks up a couple of small pillows from where they’ve fallen to the floor. “Up,” he directs her, so that he can place the pillows under her head. 

“You _are_ a good girl, Swan. Look at how still you’re being.” He moves back between her legs, spreading them wider still. “Look at how beautiful you are.” His hand moves to ghost over her mound, a hair’s breadth above her skin, as close as he can get without actually touching her. Emma whimpers, and he can see her trembling with the effort not to move her hips. She deserves a reward for that, he thinks. With a single finger, he circles her entrance before slowly moving inside. Emma moans loudly enough that he hopes the stone walls are as thick as they look.

“My, my.” He pulls his finger from her, looks at how wet it is. “You do like being tied up, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she gasps quickly.

He continues to touch her, dragging his finger up and over her clit before sliding back down and pushing inside, over and over. When Emma’s hips come off the bed, he takes his hand away until she settles back again. 

The haunted look in her eyes is gone, he notices. For whatever reason, putting her in this position does indeed seem to be helping, so he reaches within himself and summons the pirate.

Unlacing the ties on his pants, he leers at her. “I’m going to fuck your mouth now, Emma Swan.” And he waits for her to balk, but she just licks her lips again. He moves forward until his knees are on either side of her shoulders, his cock bobbing in front of her face. She takes it into her mouth eagerly, hollowing her cheeks and sucking. He’s usually cautious with her when she does this, making sure not to choke her, but he ignores those tendencies now. Bracing himself with his hook on the wall, he grabs at the base of her skull, his hand threading into her hair, and he clenches his fist. She makes a desperate sound in the back of her throat.

Doubt seizes his heart. “Okay?”

She nods, continuing to work him with her mouth, her tongue moving against the base of his cock, and she knows he loves that, knows it’s the easiest way to get him to come. But as arousing as it is, he isn’t close to spilling in her mouth right now. He stares into her eyes as he thrusts shallowly, dragging his cock in and out of her mouth. Somewhere in there, the Dark One is lurking, an unclean thing watching him, judging him for using her this way. Knowing him. The Dark One knows him too well already. Now it will know him intimately too. What might it do with that information? 

Letting go of her hair, he reaches back with his hand blindly and finds her core, thrusting his fingers deep inside her, once, twice, and just like that she comes, her mouth going slack around his cock as she vocalizes her orgasm. 

He pulls out of her mouth and backs away.

“You can come in my mouth,” she says. “I want you to.”

He's not sure if he can, but he doesn't want her to know that, so he hides his doubts behind a leer. 

“Patience, love.” He lets his hand trail over a breast, rolling over her nipple with his palm before pinching it. Her resulting gasp is gratifying.

He moves down her body and settles between her thighs, his mouth going to work on her immediately. The flat of his hook presses against her stomach, keeping her still, while he licks a path up her slit. He groans in satisfaction. The taste of her after she's come is glorious. With his fingers splayed on her inner thigh, he presses her leg down, stretching her open. Tempted by the smooth expanse of skin under his hand, he shifts and seals his lips on her thigh, sucking sharply. 

“Fuck, yes,” he hears her mutter as he maintains the suction. “Mark me. Make it hurt, Killian.” With a heated glance up at her, he begins using his teeth to graze her skin next to the red mark he's already created. Keeping eye contact with her, he bites down; it isn't hard enough to break the skin, but it's far from gentle. Emma cries out, hips bucking uncontrollably. 

Gripping her ass, he pulls her quim against his face again. He can feel each of his individual fingers pressing hard into her skin, hard enough to bruise, but the rougher he is, the more she seems to like it. It's somehow arousing and worrying at the same time.

“Yes,” she's gasping, babbling now as he continues to lick her unrelentingly, alternating between pressure directly on her clit and dipping back down into her opening. He slides his hook up from her stomach to her breast, letting it catch against her nipple. 

“Fuck, Killian, I’m gonna …” she trails off into a deep moan that sounds only barely human, and he’s surprised at how easily she’s fallen into a second orgasm. He continues with slow pulses of his tongue on her clit until she twists away from him, too sensitive for such direct contact.

Emma is panting, her eyes closed, and he just watches her as she recovers. He can see marks left by his mouth on her inner thigh, and it makes his cock twitch to look at them. A flood of shame swamps him, and he closes his eyes against the evidence that he’s hurt her. _It was because she asked me to. (It was because she’s the Dark One.)_

“It’s definitely your turn,” he hears Emma murmur, and he opens his eyes to look at her again, at her lips turned up in a soft smile.

For a moment, he considers stopping. This was for her, after all, and he can deal with the discomfort of going without. Or he can take care of himself as soon as she leaves the room to wander the halls of the castle, another of her pastimes during her sleepless nights. But he is weak and she is willing. And maybe she needs him to show her that he still wants her.

Leaning over, he unties the sash that anchors her to the bed, leaving the one that binds her hands together in place. “Flip over,” he grunts, and Emma rolls and moves up onto her elbows and knees, her face pressing into the pillows. She holds her ass high for him, knowing what he wants.

His hand is gripping one flank and his hook presses into the other, as he lines himself up and thrusts into her sharply. He pulls back on her body in the same moment, hard enough that he hears her teeth click together. Another rough thrust and he slips out of her wetness, so Emma adjusts the angle of her hips to make it easier for him to enter her again.

He remembers the last time he fucked her from behind; they were in his quarters on his ship. She’d still been angry with her parents and a little bit drunk on his rum, and she let him bend her over the table, one of her hands grasping for purchase on the polished wood as she worked her other hand between her own legs to get herself off. He remembers thinking that he couldn’t believe his luck, that this amazing, sexy woman belonged to him. But that luck had been short-lived, and in the end, faced with the choice between being the savior and being his, she hadn’t chosen him. Her _‘I love you’_ had been a cold comfort.

Gritting his teeth, he hammers into her over and over again, claiming her, needing her to be his. Completely his and no one else’s, not her family, not her people, not the Dark One’s. Just his. Emma can’t brace herself with her hands, and with every thrust she is dragged roughly against the pillows, but he can’t care about that right now, right now he just needs to ensure that no one and nothing can ever take her from him again. Just now he needs the Dark One inside her to understand that it cannot have her.

His climax comes on him suddenly, leaving him sweating and shuddering as he empties himself inside her body. After a long moment, he lets go of her, his cock slipping out, and Emma bonelessly drops to the bed, still on her stomach. He lies down at her side, untying the remaining sash around her wrists carefully. 

Emma rolls over onto her back and snuggles in close, caressing his chest. She seems content, but all he can do is catalog the marks on her. The faint red lines on her wrists, the finger marks on one hip that will be bruises tomorrow, the place where the blunt point of his hook dug into her other hipbone. “I’ve hurt you,” he says, his hand skating over her pelvis. 

“Worth it,” she says with a smile, oblivious to his guilt. Unbuckling his brace and dropping it on the floor, he adjusts the blankets over them both, and then pulls her into his arms.

“I’m glad I could please you.” His voice breaks a little on the words, and now she notices.

“What’s wrong?” 

Killian takes a deep breath. “Love, I would do anything for you. You know that.”

She regards him evenly, her expression unreadable. “You didn’t like this.”

“Well, obviously I _did_ , but… I didn’t like the impulses it brought out in me.” _And I’m afraid of you, my love. Afraid the Dark One has me under its thrall._

Emma tenses up, pulling away from him. “I’m sorry.”

“I swear, once the darkness is out of you, I will be your willing slave in bed. Or I’ll make you mine. Just, please. I’m not sure if I can—”

“That’s fine, don’t worry about it.” She is up and out of bed in an instant, her clothes back on with the wave of her hand. She is getting more liberal with her use of magic, and that terrifies him too. 

“Emma, I’m sorry.”

“I said don’t worry about it.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Get some sleep. I’m going to get some fresh air. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He lets her go. Sleep comes for neither of them that night.


	2. Last Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during Season 5a, specifically just toward the end of 5x10, after everyone's memories are restored and before Killian opens the Underworld portal in the lake. Again, just to reiterate the "mildly dubious consent" tag, both of the characters are Dark Ones and therefore not entirely in control of their decisions. I described writing this chapter as walking a tightrope over a pool filled with non-con crocodiles; hopefully I made it across unscathed.

She materializes in the sitting room of her house, the dreamcatcher that she used to reinstate her memories clutched in her hand. The rest of her family is still in Regina’s office, and no, she probably shouldn’t have left them all there. The truce with her family is fragile, their trust in her even more so, and vanishing in a puff of grey smoke probably isn’t doing her any favors. But she just couldn’t stand to look at any of their faces, not right now. Right now she just needs a moment to collect herself, and come to terms with the fact that for this to end, either she has to die, or the love of her life does.

Every accusation he’s made since she saved his life in Camelot is an open wound that bleeds and bleeds and may never heal. That she doesn’t trust him. That she wants to control him. That she pushes away the people that she loves. That she should have let him die. 

It’s that last one that hurts the most, because it’s objectively true. She _should_ have let him die. She should have stood there and watched as he bled out on the floor, and then united those damnable blades, defeating the darkness once and for all while his blood soaked into the hem her white cloak. That’s what a true savior would have done. Instead she made a selfish choice, thinking she could pay the price for it later.

Well, she certainly has paid. 

The darkness is still talking to her. No longer as a Rumpelstiltskin manifestation, but she isn’t sure if this is better or worse. Instead it’s _her_ voice that whispers inside her head, telling her that what Killian is doing is righteous. That it’s what she wants too. That she can join him, get him to forgive her, and together they can bring about a kingdom of the Dark Ones, where they can rule as king and queen. She’ll be with him at his side, and once his vengeance is quenched he’ll love her once more. All she has to do is sacrifice her entire family.

“Shut up,” she mutters aloud to no one. 

It occurs to her to wonder what happened on board the _Jolly Roger_ , and if Gold is dead. She’s not sure she could have mustered any sympathy for him before the darkness took her, and she certainly can’t now. One thing she knows for sure is that Killian is still alive; if he weren’t, she would know. She would feel it.

If he’s alive, then he has Excalibur. If she’s going to protect her family, then she has to take it from him. 

She can’t summon him, not against his will. But maybe if he still, in some tiny part of his heart, holds some regard for her, he will come when she calls. 

Emma hides the dreamcatcher, and then with a wave of her fingers, casts a glamour on her wrist to make it look like the restraining cuff is still there. She stands like a statue on the carpet, her arms loose at her sides, and closes her eyes. Reaching across the magic that links them, she talks to him. “Killian. I would speak with you now.”

A few silent seconds pass, and then a concussion of air at her back alerts her to his presence. She spins on her heel and meets the eyes of the madman who was her lover.

His skin is pale, his hair a riot of wind-swept, oily tangles, like he can’t keep his hand out of it. His eyeliner is smeared and starting to wear away, making him somehow look younger and more vulnerable, even as the expression that he gives her is full of exhausted malice.

“Why have you summoned me, Swan?”

She doesn’t have a plan, isn’t even sure what to say to this simple question, so she shrugs with one shoulder. “I wanted to see you.”

In her mind’s eye she can see the way Killian would have reacted to such a statement, once. A smile, maybe a salacious smirk, a comment about how he can understand why, he’s quite amazing to look upon. This Killian just stares at her. “You still think I’ll tell you what I’m going to do, if you get me talking? That I’ll deliver a monologue on exactly what my plan is, like one of those villains in your films?”

Emma lets out a breath: he doesn’t know yet that she got the dreamcatchers. “Perhaps,” she answers. “Or perhaps I just… wanted to say goodbye.”

He barks out a laugh. “Goodbye?”

She moves toward him slowly, like she’s approaching a poisonous snake she doesn’t want to spook. “I think you and I know that whatever happens, both of us aren’t going to survive this. So yes, I wanted to say goodbye.”

Killian looks genuinely taken aback by that. 

Emma continues to approach, stopping only when she is close enough to feel his breath on her face, the warmth of his body next to hers. “You were the greatest love of my life,” she tells him honestly. 

“And you destroyed me.”

She’s steeled herself against anything he can say to her now. Her heart is full of ice; there’s no room for any more pain. “Yes, I destroyed you.”

He steps back away from her, and she considers that a small victory; of what sort, she isn’t sure. “For so long, I thought it was loving Milah that had led me to down the darkest path I could possibly walk, through centuries of bloodlust and vengeance, but it was _you_ ,” he says with a finger pointed in her face, “the princess, the bloody savior. You turned out to be a master craftsman when it came to creating the ultimate dark version of me. Well done.”

“I thought I was just a blonde distraction,” she says, unable to resist pointing out the contradiction in all of his verbal attacks.

Killian scowls at her, but then suddenly his face transforms and he smiles, a funhouse mirror version of his familiar seductive expression. “Are you offering to distract me?”

Now this was something she hadn't considered. Not because she doesn’t want him still, because she always wants him (in any timeline, any universe, any realm, she wants him). It just hadn’t occurred to her that he wasn’t so single-minded in his vengeance to want her too. She’s tried to reach him with logic, she’s tried to reach him with love. Maybe there’s a way to reach him through his baser desires. 

She shrugs again. “You know, one last time? For old times’ sake?”

He shakes his head. “No no no. I see your game, Swan. You think that you can seduce the darkness out of me, but it doesn’t work like that.”

“I know it doesn’t work like that. I of all people know it doesn’t work like that.” She sidles up to him again, noticing for the first time the dried blood on his hook. She supposes that answers any question she had about Gold’s fate. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“I may be the Dark One, but I’ve still got physical needs, same as you,” she says.

“This is just more manipulation.”

“It isn't. But if you aren’t interested, perhaps I’ll just find someone else.” Killian’s eyes flash with anger. His jealousy couldn’t be more plain on his face, and she mentally congratulates herself on the success of that little gambit. “But you’re here,” she continues, “and I know you know how to please me.” She can see the indecision in his eyes. “Remember the last time? In Camelot?”

His expression twists with bitterness, and she realizes she may have taken a wrong step, reminding him of that night. “How could I forget?” he whispers. “My soiled angel, pulling me into the darkness.”

“A part of you liked it.” She is afraid to bridge that final gap and touch him, but he is so close that she can smell his sweat. There has to be something of Killian left in there, something of the man who gave up his ship for her, wooed her and loved her and told her that she was his happy ending. Much as she is thoroughly consumed by the roiling darkness, even as it becomes harder to separate her thoughts from the Dark One’s, she knows that underneath somewhere, she is still herself.

But looking at him now, he’s like a junkie who has relapsed into heroin addiction.

“What I liked was hurting you.” His eyes flash with a gleam of madness. 

“So hurt me.”

He is the one who bridges the gap then, pulling her against him roughly. She can feel a trembling energy in the muscles of his arms as he puts his lips against her ear. “You're like a bad cliché, Swan. The woman who's afraid of losing control, whose instinct is to control the people around her to stop them from abandoning her, has a submissive kink. The thing you fear most becomes the thing you desire.” He pulls back and looks at her. “In retrospect, I find the fact that I spent so long trying to bed you so … baffling. Women like you are so bloody common.”

Her hand connects with his face with a sharp crack, and almost before she realizes what she's done, Killian brings his own hand up to his cheek where she's hit him. He purses his lips, almost laughing. “Ooh-hoo, did I strike a nerve, princess? The daughter of royalty who grew up a sad little orphan with no one to love her. Who gave away her virtue at such a young age. No wonder you fell so far from your parent’s expectations, ending up with a pirate’s cock in your mouth.”

She raises her hand to hit him again and he grabs her arm, jerking her toward his body, and their lips meet violently. Teeth collide and she opens her mouth on instinct, letting his mouth follow the well-worn patterns of kissing her. For a moment it’s all wet sliding tongues and heat, the hard lines of his body meeting hers at several points of connection, then his cruel words swim to the front of her consciousness again, and she bites down hard.

Killian pulls away, a grin still on his face despite the blood that she sees blooming on his lower lip, the blood that she can taste. 

“You’re so full of shit,” she murmurs.

His eyebrow lifts. “Am I?”

“Calling me an anchor, a distraction. Your lies couldn’t be more transparent. You followed me through time, you sold your beloved ship, you pursued me until you, frankly, wore me down. And you want to imply that _I’m_ the pathetic one?” 

“The man who did all of that is dead.”

Time to roll the dice, she thinks. “So you don’t love me.” The words are matter-of-fact, and she schools her face against any of the feelings that are swirling beneath the surface.

He sniffs. “I’m free of the emotions that used to weigh me down.”

With a few gradual steps, she approaches him again, her fingers going to the buttons of her jacket. “That will make this easy, then,” she says. “Just bodies, taking what they need.” She shrugs the jacket off, revealing bare arms and a form-fitting black top. She tracks his eyes as they stray to her chest.

“I need nothing from you, Swan.” 

She drops her jacket on the floor as she stands a scant inch away from him, breathing the same air that he breathes. A droplet of blood wells from his lip and traces a lurid line down his chin. Reaching below his belt, she presses the heel of her hand against his groin and feels the evidence of his desire for her. His eyes close, lashes fluttering like insect wings.

“You need _something_ from me, I think,” she whispers into the narrow space between their mouths as she presses harder against his zipper, measuring the outline of his erection with her fingers. “Take it. If it will make you feel better, then punish me. Punish me for what I did to you.”

His eyes flash. “How about we start by dispensing with at least one of the lies you’re telling, shall we?” He waves his hand, and the false cuff on her wrist disappears. “Did you really think you could fool the me with a simple glamour?”

“It was worth a shot,” Emma says. Killian’s eyes are are flicking between her eyes and mouth, and perhaps he hasn’t realized that if she has access to magic, she’s also had a chance to restore everyone’s memories. Perhaps she’s proving to be too much of a distraction for him to think tactically. 

“I just wanted you to know that _I_ know we’re on equal footing,” he says, and she almost laughs that he’s capable of such a gentlemanly impulse in the midst of whatever it is that is happening between them. Killian walks them backward until her shoulders hit the wall, and then his mouth is on hers again, a bruising kiss that makes desire flare up in her suddenly, a match lit from another already burning one. She tastes rum and the copper of his blood. His mouth is hot, like he’s running a fever. Killian braces himself against the wall with hand and hook, grinding against her with everything he has. She isn’t sure what to focus on, his mouth on hers or the way her breasts press against his chest or the feel of his hard cock rubbing against her through their clothes. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asks her, but he doesn’t stop, he continues that perfect pressure and friction as he ruts against her. She hooks her leg around his hip, gasping.

“Want you to see—” she starts but he interrupts her with another hard kiss composed of scraping teeth and her mouth filled with his tongue. He grabs her hand and holds it against the wall behind her, squeezing it hard enough that she can feel the delicate bones grinding together. When he finally releases her mouth, she starts again. “Want you to see that we’re better together than apart.”

She hears his hook scrape the wall next to her ear as he shifts his position. “Of course we are, Swan. We’re a bloody apocalypse together.”

She pulls her hand from his, and with a flick of her fingers locks the doors and cloaks the windows with shadow. If her family comes looking for her, they will just have to wait. Her hands hurriedly work his belt, fumbling the end of it from the loops on his jeans and jerking it to the side to release the buckle. He just watches her with an elevated eyebrow as she unbuttons and unzips, freeing his cock so that it bobs free. She doesn’t have any intention of removing any more of his clothes than necessary. The intimacy of all that skin against skin is more than she can handle.

She takes his cock in her fist, but only manages a few strokes before he bats her hand away. His fingers are a vice on her arm as he grabs her and turns her around so that she’s facing the wall. He yanks her leggings down, pressing on her back until she positions herself, hands flat on the wall and legs spread as far as she can with movements restricted by her half-clothed state. He enters her with a sharp thrust before she’s ready for it; she’s wet but not enough, and it hurts. Still, it feels like victory.

Everything is reduced to the press of his hipbones against her ass with every thrust, the increasingly slick drag of him inside her, his firm chest against her back. The sound of Killian’s hissed breathing tells her that his teeth are clenched. It’s good, but it’s not enough. If this is the last time, it’s not nearly enough.

Reaching back with her right arm, she shoves him hard enough that he stumbles backward. “Something the matter, highness?” he asks with exaggerated deference.

Emma waves his fingers, making her boots and leggings disappear, then shoves Killian again so that he collapses onto the sofa. “You’re giving me no pleasure. You were better at this before,” she sneers.

Killian reaches out for her hand and pulls her onto his lap. He’s clearly angry, and he doesn’t apologize, but he guides her with hand and hook on her ass to grind her clit against him, and _oh_. That’s it. Gripping the high back of the sofa with both hands and her eyes squeezed shut, she makes no move to let him enter her again, just uses his erection exactly where she needs it. It’s almost too much, the way his cock rubs against her most sensitive flesh, and soon she feels her thighs trembling with the overwhelming pleasure.

Just as she’s starting to get close, Killian shifts underneath her, and she allows him to line himself up and enter her again. It’s good this time, hot and slippery and _fuck_ , every stroke pushes her closer to coming. Her hips roll against his, guided by his fingers pressed into the skin of her hip, and she keeps her eyes squeezed shut and just concentrates on the physical sensations building inside her. His thrusts rise to meet her, and it’s so good, it’s perfect, it’s just like it used to be before everything they so carefully built together burned to the ground. She’s quiet when she comes, holding her breath, afraid to look at him. Instead she hears it when he falls, as he muffles a groan against her shoulder.

Then they are both still. Finally her eyes flutter open, and she gasps at the way Killian is looking at her. Something in his face has changed, and her heart feels like it stops beating as their eyes meet.

“Emma.” His hand rises from her hip and his fingertips brush gently against her cheek. It is so painfully tender, and tears quickly well up in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. The darkness that fills her is a distant whisper.

“Killian?” she asks in a tremulous voice. She’s afraid to hope, but she sees love in his eyes for the first time since he learned his true nature. Maybe her stupid scheme has worked, and she’s reached the man beneath the Dark One. 

Then just as suddenly, the moment is gone, like shades drawn down inside his eyes. He is scrambling to get out from under her, as if he can’t bare to touch her a second longer. Left curled on the corner of the sofa as he rights his clothing, Emma quickly uses magic to cover herself, putting all of her armor back in place. She feels the high collar of her jacket against her neck like a cool hand soothing her overheated skin.

“Well, Swan, did you get what you needed?” Perhaps the tenderness in his voice, in that one utterance of her name, was a hallucination on her part. Already it doesn’t seem real. Now his affect is flat, and the only thing she can see in his eyes is more anger. More insanity.

She remembers what she said to him at the beginning of all this, that she’d wanted to say goodbye. “I guess I did.”

“Glad I could be of service.” He tilts his head, staring at her for a few endless seconds, his expression unreadable. “Goodbye, Swan.” With a flick of his wrist and a puff of red smoke, he disappears.

The tears that she’s been suppressing finally spill over. “Goodbye.”


	3. Their Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some happiness! Set some weeks after the end of Season 5, Emma and Killian deal with the events of Parts 1 and 2.

Emma drags her finger across her e-reader, turning the page. It feels like eons since she’s taken the time to read anything, and like the height of indulgence to do so now. It may be “just a romance novel,” as Henry would say with a wrinkled nose, but it’s one Belle recommended to her a long time ago, and now that she’s into it, she can see why. It’s actually really good, and the sex is super hot.

The sound of a more traditional page turn reaches her ears, and she looks over at the man in bed beside her. Killian is bare-chested and propped against the headboard, a thick novel open on his lap. She takes a moment to admire the way his forearm flexes as he absently picks up the corner of the next page of his book. He seems totally unaware of her, engrossed in his reading, so she is surprised when he speaks to her without looking up. “I see your game, Swan.”

“What?”

“Reading that dirty book of yours and then ogling my person, that’s what.”

She grins. “Please, you love it.”

Killian smiles too, continuing to read. 

After a few weeks, she feels like they are starting to settle into the routine of living together, getting familiar with each other’s habits of waking and sleeping, coming to terms with each other’s annoying quirks. She can now sometimes go a whole day so wrapped up in her job and housework and groceries and taking care of Henry that she can forget how precious it is, how unlikely it is that she is able to share her life with this man. Then suddenly there will be a quiet moment, and she looks at him, and her heart hurts with how much she loves him and how lucky they are to be here after everything that happened.

Emma puts her book aside, and it is immediately obvious that it’s the sign Killian is waiting for. His own book snaps shut and he drops it to the floor, looming over her and taking her into his arms in one smooth motion. One of his legs nestles between hers, and Killian’s nose nudges up against her nose before their lips meet. As they kiss slowly, she reaches up and combs her fingers through his hair. He’s keeping it short again, and she loves the way it looks, but she has to admit she misses the way she could really grab a handful of it when it was longer in back. 

He slides his hand under the loose t-shirt she’s worn to bed, and she sighs at the feel of his calloused fingertips caressing her breast. Her nipple tightens as he touches her, and when he pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, the mixture of pain and pleasure makes her gasp, her eyes snapping open.

“Sorry,” Killian murmurs, removing his hand from her shirt. His lips brush against hers on the word.

“For what?”

He pushes away from her on his left forearm, frowning. “Oh, I thought I hurt you.”

Emma grins. “You did, but in a good way.” She can feel his flinch all along the length of her body. “What's wrong?”

A complicated mixture of emotions plays out over his face. “Nothing’s wrong,” he responds, but it's clearly a lie.

“Is this about what happened in Camelot?”

A few days after he returned to her from the dead, when they’d each stopped the other from apologizing several times, Emma had proclaimed what she called “Dark One amnesty.” They officially forgave each other for everything that had happened when the darkness consumed them, and promised to put all of it in the past. And while it was allowing them to focus on their future together, it also meant there were some things that had happened that they never discussed.

“A lot of things happened in Camelot, love.”

“Yeah, I know, but I think you know what I'm referring to.”

Killian sighs and rolls off of her, his hand covering his face. “I'm sorry.”

“See, that's why we need to talk about this; you have got to stop feeling guilty. Look, I think you have a serious misunderstanding of what happened there. You think I asked you to tie me up, and that I liked it so much, because of the darkness. But it wasn't that.” She feels herself blush. “That's just one hundred percent all natural, certified organic Emma Swan.”

Killian lifts his hand from his face and raises an eyebrow. “You never asked me to do anything like that before, though.”

“Well, it's not like we really had time, did we? We were always trying to find these little moments to be together in the midst of one crisis or another. I wasn't ready to overcomplicate things. But anyway, the truth is… I mean, you said it yourself: I’m afraid of losing control in my life, so I have a submission kink in the bedroom. The thing I fear becomes my blah blah blah. Whatever you said. Deepest desire.”

“I was trying to wound you when I said that.”

“Maybe, but you hit the nail on the fucking head.”

“I have no problem with your desires, love. It was my reaction that was the problem.”

Emma rolls over and wraps herself around him, her arm moving across his chest to squeeze him in a hug. “I should have realized that asking you to dominate me in bed at that point wasn’t really fair to you, given your history with the Dark One.”

“Amnesty,” he says softly, the one word serving as a reminder that she doesn’t need to apologize. She feels his left arm settle across her back, the blunt end of his wrist brushing against her skin.

“I know, just … I should have realized.” Emma lifts her head, letting her chin rest against his ribcage. “Hey,” she says, waiting until Killian’s eyes drift down from the ceiling to meet hers. “I’m in love with you, you know.”

He gives her a half smile. “I know.”

It’s obvious to her that he’s holding something back. “Killian? What is it?”

“I’m not sure the darkness would have allowed you such insights, love. It may have had more far-reaching plans than either of us were aware of.” 

Propping herself up on an elbow, Emma frowns. “What do you mean?”

“It’s all conjecture on my part, understand that. But you were probably proving to be a more challenging nut to crack than the darkness had ever encountered. You were still holding onto a lot of your goodness. Maybe somehow it knew that you could put an end to it once and for all, so it preserved itself the only way it knew how.”

“How?”

“By latching on to me. Learning even more about me, figuring out my weaknesses so that I wouldn't stand a chance once the darkness was inside me.”

It's clear he's been thinking about this a lot, and Emma feels another flush of guilt. “But… how could it have known that you would be in the position to get a fatal injury?” Killian just shrugs, but Emma is too far down this line of reasoning to turn back. “You think I did something. During that fight with Merlin and Arthur, you think I somehow put the pieces in place so that you would get cut by Excalibur.”

Killian puts his hand on her cheek. “Not you, the Dark One. And I don't know, it's just speculation. Or wishful thinking, maybe.”

“Wishful thinking that I was partially responsible for killing you?”

“Wishful thinking that my giving in to the darkness wasn't simply a result of my own weakness.”

“Hey, none of that.” Emma stretches up and kisses him. “We’ll drive ourselves crazy if we don't let this go.”

“Aye, you're right about that.” Killian guides her to rest her head on his chest again. After a moment, he adds, “I’m in love with you, too, by the way.” His fingers thread gently into her hair. “I love you more than anything in this life.”

Emma smiles, one of the overwhelming smiles she can’t control when he talks to her like that, and kisses his chest. “Good.” 

They lie silently for a while, just enjoying being in each other’s arms, her ear pressed against him to listen to his heartbeat. “Do you think we should talk about the other time?” she finally asks him.

“The other time?” His voice sounds hazy and slow, like he was starting to drift off to sleep.

Emma regrets disturbing their peaceful moment, but forges ahead. “The other time we… had sex. After I…” It’s hard to say out loud. She’s not let herself think about those horrible days in Storybrooke very much. 

Killian squeezes her tight against him. “When I was the Dark One,” he says, his voice raspy with emotion, “and I forced myself on you downstairs.”

Startled, she sits up. “Okay, that is definitely not what happened.”

“Emma—”

“No, God, is that what you think? Wow, we do need to talk about it, because I’m not letting you carry that guilt around with you when that isn’t what happened.”

He holds his hand up in surrender. “Settle down, love.”

“I mean, no offense to your Dark One mojo, babe, but I manipulated you into having sex with me. When I summoned you to the house that day, I’d already restored all of our memories, and I knew what you were planning. And I thought… it’s weird thinking back on that time, you know? I can remember thinking things, I can remember thoughts coming from my head that weren’t really mine.”

“I know,” he says with a grimace, sitting up and scooting back against the headboard again, like he needs some distance from her. “Believe me, I know.”

“Anyway, my point is, I thought if I could seduce you, then maybe… I don’t know. Maybe I could distract you long enough to get Excalibur, or even convince you not to open the portal to the Underworld. It wasn’t a very well thought-out plan, I’ll admit, but my plan was definitely to get you to fuck me. You didn’t force yourself on me.”

His eyes meet hers briefly, but he doesn't hold her gaze, as if he can't bare to. For a man who is usually so willing to maintain eye contact, it hurts her heart to witness him like this. “What about you wanting to say goodbye?” 

A lump develops in her throat at how close they came to that goodbye. “Yeah. I meant that. If all else failed, anyway.”

Killian takes her hand in his, looking down and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “The things I remember thinking, Emma, it’s…” He takes a shuddering breath. “It’s like you said, they weren’t my thoughts, but they were in my head. Wanting to hurt you, wanting to…” 

She sees his jaw twitching, sees him unable to continue speaking, and Emma crawls into his lap and hugs him, her hand coming up to cradle his head. “It’s okay, it wasn’t you,” she murmurs. “It wasn’t you.”

He clutches at her back, holding her close until he’s able to get control of his emotions. “It was me for a moment,” he finally says, just when she thinks the conversation is over. Killian presses his forehead to hers, the tips of their noses just touching. “Right after, for just a moment, it was me.”

“I remember,” Emma says, feeling tears welling behind her eyes. “You said my name.”

He nods. 

She kisses him then, and all the previously pent up emotions ignite a spark of passion in both of them. The release of all those feelings she’d boxed up, thinking it was better to protect Killian from them, has left her feeling shaken and with a powerful desire to fuse herself to him, to make sure he knows that he is hers. Their kiss is deep and wet, paradoxically both the most familiar thing in the world and at the same time overpowering in the way it makes her feel. Her knees bracket his hips, and his arms around her chest pull her as close as he can as his mouth dips into hers again and again. Eventually, Emma pulls away to catch her breath, panting against his lips as she again presses their foreheads together.

“Man, how do you do that?” she asks, her chest heaving.

“Do what, love?”

“Kiss me and get me from, like, zero to sixty in two seconds flat.” She combs her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, smiling fondly.

“Zero what to sixty what?”

“Miles per hour, like a car. Never mind, it’s a metaphor,” she explains.

“Ah, I think I understand,” he says, elevating an eyebrow. “Zero being, sitting here in bed having a fraught conversation about what happened when we were Dark Ones, and sixty being…” He trails his hand across the top of her thigh and shifts her underwear aside, exploring her folds without preamble. “...this,” he finishes with a smirk as he feels how wet she is.

“Yeah, you got it,” she gasps, swiveling her hips against his fingers.

Killian stops touching her just as suddenly as he began, eliciting a pout from Emma. His expression shifts to a more serious one. “Love, I’m sorry for all the things I said to you that day.”

“Amnesty,” she reminds him, raising a hand in warning.

“I know, Swan, just humor me this one last time.”

“Killian, the reason you were able to target my insecurities like you did is because you know me so well.” She kisses him briefly. “And you know me so well because of everything you did to break down my walls. No one’s ever known me as well as you do.”

He hums in agreement, kissing her back. “So I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

Emma laughs. “Yep, this is for life, buddy. True love.” She takes a second to marvel at the fact that she can joke about the certainty that she wants to spend the rest of her life with him without a hint of fear.

Brushing his nose against hers, Killian smiles. “I suppose at some point I’ll have to make an honest woman out of you.”

Her heart skips a beat, and she pulls back to study his face. “Wait, are you—”

“What, proposing marriage to you in bed? That wouldn’t be suitable for your son’s storybook, now would it? Nor would it be good form to ask for the hand of a princess in so informal a manner. No no no, Swan, when I propose, you’ll know it.”

Emma tucks her tongue against her top teeth, appraising him with an arched eyebrow of her own. “Will I?” Her heart is racing, but at the same time she feels strangely calm, given what he’s just said. It’s probably the same impulse that propelled her to kiss him the first time that causes her to say, “Or maybe I’ll just propose to you first.”

“You what?”

She takes his hand and adopts as serious an expression as she can, even though she can feel giddy laughter bubbling below the surface. “Killian?”

“Swan, you’re ruining it,” he whines.

“I’m _ruining_ it?” she says, her grin so wide that it feels like the top of her head might fall off. She scoots further forward onto his lap. “So I’m just supposed to, what, wait around for you to decide it’s time to ask me?”

“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do, darling.” He slides his hand around under the hem of her underwear and onto her ass, squeezing. “Don’t you trust me?”

Emma rolls her eyes. “You know I do.”

“Then don’t worry, love, you won’t have to wait long.”

“Oh, really? You have this all planned, do you?”

His eyebrows waggle, his smile a match for her own. “Might do.”

“You’re awfully confident, pirate. I might not even say yes.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see, then.”

“I guess we will.”

He kisses her then, enthusiastic and just a little bit forceful, and she grins against his lips at the thought that he might be trying to distract her before she gets it into her head to propose to him again. Emma shifts around on Killian’s lap until she feels his cock, half-hard in the pajama pants he’s wearing, and she wastes no time in grinding against him. He moans into her mouth, his hand still clutching her ass, and Emma presses in harder, suddenly needing him badly. From the moment she first met him, he’s always tilted her world on its axis, making her dizzy, but never more so than when he kisses her like this. 

Killian trails his mouth down, his lips opening wetly against her throat. “There's nothing I love more than the sound of your heavy breathing,” he murmurs, “knowing it’s because you want me.” All she can do is nod in response to that. “Tell me you want me, Swan.” She feels his teeth scrape her neck before he latches on again with his lips just above her collarbone, sucking hard, and it sends a bolt of pleasure straight through her.

“I want you,” she gasps, writhing in his lap. He’s so hard now, and God, she may never have wanted him more than she does right now.

His mouth releases from her skin with an audible smack, and she can tell she’s going to have to wear a scarf tomorrow if she wants to cover the bruise. “What do you want me to do to you?” he asks her.

“I…” She doesn’t consider herself particularly skilled at dirty talk, but he gets her so worked up, she can't really overthink how she answers. “Just fuck me, I need… please, I need you inside me now.”

“Right now?” He shifts under her, starting to lower his pajama bottoms, so she rises up on her knees to help him. Both of them are rushing, moving a little awkwardly as they shift clothing out of the way, desperate to be joined together. Emma is still wearing her underwear, but right now the effort to get it off is beyond her, and she sighs in relief as Killian hooks a finger under the fabric and shifts it out of the way, guiding her at the same time with a press of his left forearm to line herself up with him.

“Now, yes, now,” she mutters, sinking down on his cock, feeling him fill her. It's like a circuit completing, the way it feels to have him buried inside her; it's so good, so impossibly good.

Killian rakes his hand and stunted arm up her sides, dragging her t-shirt up with them, and Emma pulls the shirt off over her head and tosses it aside. Mouth descending on one of her nipples, Killian circles it with his tongue before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. She winds her arms around his neck, holding on while she rocks her hips, fucking him with shallow strokes.

“Talk to me, love,” he says, lips against the soft skin of her breast. His eyes cut up to hers, the blue appearing almost green in the warm lamplight of their bedroom.

Emma opens her mouth and hesitates, unsure what to say. What words could she possibly use to articulate how much she loves him and how good he makes her feel? Finally, she whispers, “You saved me.”

“ _I_ saved _you_? I think you have that backwards.” His hand slides down over her abdomen and his thumb finds her clit, pressing and rubbing in time with her motion.

Emma shakes her head, eyelashes fluttering with the sparks of sensation. “I mean before. A long time ago. Every day, you save me by… staying.” She's not sure if she's making any sense, wants to explain that his constancy in her life, his solid presence, his devotion to her and Henry and a lifetime of days together is what she means. No one’s ever offered her that, and he's fundamentally changed her by doing so. Saved her. But she can't make the thoughts into words, not while he's inside her and touching her and making her feel this amazing.

Killian kisses her lips gently. “Are you close, love?” She nods, breathing fast and desperate. “Good,” he says, but then he's stopping, lifting her off of him, and Emma makes a sound of disbelieving protest. 

“Not time for you to come yet,” he explains, guiding her to lie on her back. “I'm not finished enjoying you like this.” He pushes his pajama pants the rest of the way off, and Emma quickly pulls her underwear off and flings it in the general direction of the hamper. She spares a brief thought for the exasperated affectionate eye roll Killian will give her later as he gathers the laundry, rescuing pairs of her panties from the floor and from where they end up shoved down between the sheets at the foot of the bed.

Up on his knees, Killian positions himself between her thighs. “Be still for me now, love, and let me see to you.” He uses his fingers to explore her carefully, keeping her simmering on the edge without letting her fall, and Emma can only lie passively, letting the waves of pleasure wash over her. Her toes curl, fists clenching at her side, as two of his fingers slide inside her, moving too slowly and just slowly enough.

“I love the way you feel when you’ve been thoroughly fucked,” Killian says.

“Not quite thoroughly,” she says, opening her eyes to glare at him a little. He just grins at her in return.

“Patience.”

When his thumb barely grazes her clit, Emma almost spontaneously combusts on the spot, crying out, and she really hopes Henry is sleeping soundly in his bedroom at the other end of the hall. She’s been debating to herself whether it’s worth the awkwardness to ask Regina to teach her a soundproofing spell; perhaps she’ll go ahead and bite the bullet on that soon.

He keeps her teetering on that edge long enough that it starts to feel a little bit like some kind of delicious madness. Finally he asks her, “What do you need, love?” As if he doesn’t know.

“Need to come,” she says.

“How do you want it, Swan? My hand? My mouth?”

“Want your cock, God, please,” she babbles. “Fuck me.”

He’s over her then, lightning quick, the barely restrained desire evident in his eyes now. Killian’s hand gathers her left hand up and lifts it over her head, pressing it into the mattress. Emma raises her free hand to join the other, and he takes the hint and grips them both with his own. Using only adjustments of his hips, he lines himself up with her entrance and thrusts inside her hard. One quick driving push and he’s buried deep, and Emma almost comes just from that. 

“Fuck,” she gasps. “I’m so close, Killian.”

He holds very still, propped over her on his left forearm, eyes staring into hers. “I know.”

When he finally moves, long, slow thrusts with a grind against her pelvis at the apex each time, Emma completely loses track of the world around them. All of her perception narrows to the feel of him and the smell of his sweat and his blue, blue eyes that won’t let her go, and at long last she falls. She can’t even cry out, just gives herself over to the contractions of her body, gripping him, everything slick and hot. 

Killian doesn’t break his rhythm, concentrating on his own pleasure now, and Emma pulls her hands free to reach down and clutch at his hips, his ass, trying to pull him in and bear down and make it feel as good for him as he made it feel for her. His pained groan as she clenches her pelvic muscles is like music to her ears. He buries his head in the crook of her shoulder, sweating with effort as he gets close. She can hear it in the shift in his moans, in the change in his pace, he has it within reach, and then a few seconds later it’s there, he’s coming inside her. She holds him close and rides it through with him until he stutters to a stop, aftershocks making him tremble in her arms.

“Jesus Christ,” Emma says, almost giggling with relief.

Killian doesn’t say anything, still catching his breath, and after a few seconds he pulls out and flops over onto his back, his eyes still closed.

Emma reaches for him, wraps her fingers loosely around his stunted forearm. “We’re getting crazy good at that,” she says.

“Aye.” She’s looking up at the ceiling, but she can see his head turn toward her out of the corner of her eye. “We’ve always been quite good at it, don’t you think?”

Emma turns to look at him, “Yeah, but that was…” She trails off, at a loss for words.

“That it was, my love.”

With all her remaining strength, Emma gets up and wobbles on shaky legs to the bathroom to clean herself up. When she gets back, Killian has righted the hopelessly disheveled blankets, and Emma crawls under the covers gratefully, curling up against his side.

“I love you,” she says to Killian’s shoulder, lips pressing to the faded tattoo of an anchor. 

“Did you set your alarm?” he asks, voice scratchy.

Emma rolls over and checks that her phone is plugged in. “Yeah.”

“I’ll make you breakfast before work.”

“Henry said something about pancakes,” she mumbles.

“Pancakes it is.”

“You’re impossibly good to me,” she says with a sigh, snuggling closer.

She feels his hand reach over and stroke her hair. “And I always will be.”


End file.
